Siren's Mercy
by ScorpioSky
Summary: Dubbed "The Siren", is there more to the beautiful singer than it appears? Teenagers attempting suicide in the wake of her lethal voice - mystery? Co incidence? Or Something more...
1. Chapter 1

Hey, this is a new story, one that just "came" to me on a whim. Its continuation depends on how many people actually want to see it continued, so if you like it please let me know!

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**Siren – One of the mythical monsters, half woman and half bird, said by Greek poets (see Odyssey, XII) to entice seamen by the sweetness of their song to such a degree that the listeners forgot everything and died of hunger; hence applied to any dangerous, alluring woman.**

CHAPTER 1

She lay on the bed, soaking up the warmth her body imparted on the soft sheets, wrapped in the smoky fingers of darkness, and she listened. She listened to the throb of music, pulsing from black speakers like her own heartbeat. Artificial turned real. It was not the thrum of bass guitars, or the even the drummer, beating out the very soul of nature, shaking the foundations and releasing pent-up passion and desires: it was the voice.

Slow, enchanting, Shaera's voice snaked like tendrils to the very corners of the bedroom, so exotic and alive, it touched the deepest recesses of human consciousness, where none had dared to seek. Vibrating with desires and emotions – all that basic human essence flowed from the powerful, seductive song like hot molten chocolate.

Shaera, the Siren.

The melody took her back across the city streets and neon nights, where the darkness was perpetuated by the tang of petrol and the crush of human bodies, pressed close, comforted in numbers where the walls of the club encompassed these forsaken children in a single embrace. Where girls tottered in their heels, low-clung dresses and glitter, followed by the waft of perfume, sickly-sweet, strangely becoming. Underneath the powdered make up and shiny lips, these glossy creatures had eyes tinged with vulnerability. Who will want me, their eyes cry, even as they dip and sway to the beat. Are they seducing, or has the night already claimed them?

She lay silent, and through Shaera's voice, she remembered.

She remembered the touch of hands, slow and steady, the soft parting and meeting of lips, and the glorious nothingness, where there was no thought, no past and future, only the beat, only the music. She remembered being held - the security of strong arms wrapped around her waist like a heady anchor, and eyes watching . . . glowing . . . mesmerizing.

And in a haze, she vaguely remembered the slither of limb on limb, the soft touch of skin and sticky heat. But now the dreamy quality of the night dissipated into the coming dawn, startlingly severe, each new beam of sunlight harsh and accusing.

What have you done?

She looked around the mussed sheets, saw the proof of virgin blood spilt on the pristine whiteness and felt dim shock penetrate.

Dirty. She was dirty.

The throaty voice caressed her, haunted her, tugged at her. I understand, the siren coaxed, Follow me. Walk my path. Looking forward, seeing nothing, she felt her body move in a distant, dreamlike quality, felt the cool glass of the window at her fingertips . . .

Air.

Dazed, she pushed and the wind rushed in, lifting her locks from her shoulders, and still the music lulled her. She stared out, and saw the unborn sunrise, dark and red, like newly spilt blood. Like a womb . . .

Closer . . . Just a little closer . . .

"Melissa! MELISSA!"

A woman's cry shattered her trance, her head snapped back and blinked, and she stared at her own body as if she had never seen it before. She was standing on the window ledge. Melissa breathed in sharply and stepped back down, almost slipping in her haste.

Suddenly the air was cold. So cold.

"What were you doing! What were you thinking, Melissa? Come here! My God, you're shaking!" Frantic, the woman gathered her in her arms and rubbed her pale, icy cheeks in both palms. "Are you alright? Are you alright! Honey, speak to me . . . please Mel, speak to me . . ."

"M . . . mum . . ."

Eyes wide, the girl turned to look at the stereo, but it lay silent. The room was deathly still except for her own harsh breathing, her mother crying, and the strange, unforgiving light of the new sunrise. She shivered.

But for once, she had nothing to say.

* * *

He hated her. 

Well, not exactly hated, after all it was the duty of a policeman to care for the community. But he always had little liking for beautiful women who knew they were beautiful. Beautiful women who knew they were beautiful and smirked at him even as they teased and taunted him with their eyes.

He tried not to notice the way her breasts crushed against her arms when she folded them. Such perfect breasts, it was fascinating, really . . .

Realizing she had noticed where his eyes had strayed to, he quickly averted his gaze and coughed. "So you were saying . . . ?"

She pressed her luscious lips into a thin line and narrowed her eyes. "Are you talking to me or my chest?" was the blunt reply.

He flushed.

"I was saying," she repeated impatiently, "that this claim is absolutely ridiculous."

Now this was more familiar ground. Gathering some coldness to cover his embarrassment, he shrugged. "Whatever you think, lady, but I've only come to issue you a warning that the government has to take action regarding these claims. There have been several cases where - "

"It's only music," She interrupted, her voice even colder than his, "And I don't even swear in the lyrics. I don't see what the problem is!"

He didn't like being interrupted. "...Several cases where teenagers have been influenced by your music and attempted suicide. Suicide rates are climbing, many of your CDs were the last to be played when they take their life."

"Coincidence!" She threw up her hands. "So suicidal teenagers listen to my music as well as the happy ones! There is nothing in my music that tells them to kill themselves! I don't speak of guns and killing! My music is for everyone."

"Now, Ms..."

"Shaera."

"Right. Now, Ms. Shaera, we have not decided to put a ban on your music yet, but restrictions may be imposed."

Her hand moved in one decisive chop through the air. "No. Absolutely not."

"Do you intend to fight about this?" He cringed as soon as the words left his mouth. 'Fight' was the wrong word. Not diplomatic at all. His superior would have his head if he found out.

From the way she raised one perfect eyebrow, it seemed that the singer had caught it too. "Fight? Damn right I intend to fight. You will hear from my agent. We will take this to court if we have to."

Without warning, she took two strides and closed the gap between them. He gulped at their sudden proximity, and the way her cat-lilted green eyes was staring at him unblinkingly, only inches from his own. Damn, with that silvery hair, pouty lips and curves, she was really something.

She smiled at him and he forgot how to breathe.

"No one interferes with my music." She whispered softly. Then she spun around and walked away.

Slowly, he let out his breath and adjusted his badge, feeling his erratic heartbeat underneath his uniform. God forgive him, he was only a man. A man whose job was done for the day. As he let himself out the studio door, he allowed himself one last thought – why did beautiful women always have to be bitches?

* * *

_THE SIREN – A FORCE TO BE RECKONED WITH? Shaera's new album, 'Trance', has hit the charts and rocketed up to number one. But along with the popularity, could there be more to the hot star's nickname, 'The Siren?' There has been recent concern regarding the influence of her music to vulnerable teenagers, a few of whom have been reported to attempt suicide whilst or directly after listening to her music. Though there is no proof that the attempts were caused by The Siren's song, many parents have complained about the sexy singer as a potentially dangerous influence on the younger generation. Liz Dalton speaks out, sharing her uncanny story with the public..._

He crumpled the newspaper in his bare hand. "Shaera will not like this."

His friend lounging opposite him at the breakfast table, flicked him a lazy grin and spooned his cereal. "Who are you kidding, Kaz? More publicity. She'll love it."

Kaz frowned.

"You know what your problem is? You're too serious."

They both stared at each other in silence.

"Well, other than that shock of violet hair – which is pretty awesome I must say – you are too serious." He amended.

Kaz snorted. "Oh yeah, what would I know anyway, I'm just the drummer, right? None of my business. What happens to the band doesn't worry me."

The answering smile was wide and sunny. "And I'm just the guitarist. Fuck the newspapers, man. The critics always have something to say. They complained about Eminem's music, too." He pointed out, pushing disheveled blond hair out from his eyes.

"This is a little different, Jovian." Kaz sighed, "They were protesting against his language. This is an accusation."

Jovian shrugged. "They have no grounds." He said easily.

"Yeah, but . . ."

"Oh relaaax. Man, you need to get laid more often."

"But the council – "

"When was the last time you got laid! When!"

"The Coun-"

"Come on When!" Jovian persisted, laughing.

Kaz rolled his eyes and shook salt onto his omelet more violently than necessary. "June, okay?"

Jovian sat up, his handsome face pulled into an uncharacteristic frown. "June, but it's . . . you mean last June? June last year?"

"Ahhh shut up."

"LAST YEAR?" Jovian shouted at his best buddy. "What are you – a priest or something? Why have you been celibate? If you've had some sort of rash, you'd tell me, righ-"

At this Kaz had reached over the table and clamped Jovian's jaw shut with his free hand. "I do not have a rash!" he hissed, then lowered his voice. "I just haven't been interested."

"Libido problems? Problems with performance? Hey if you can't get it up, I – mmmph mrph" He batted Kaz's hand away "Are you trying to suffocate me or something?"

"Took you long enough to figure it out," Kaz said dryly.

"Yeah, very funny, wise ass. I'm just trying to help you, since you've been all hung up about our singer . . ." Jovian trailed off, catching the look in Kaz's eyes.

It was a look that could freeze hell itself.

". . . Oh."

Once again, silence permeated the kitchen.

"You're not still in love with her, are you? She's a bit of a player, she's got issues when it comes to men . . ." His voice died off again when he noticed Kaz's olive fingers tighten on the salt shaker.

The glass cracked. Tiny grains of salt slipped out like the sand in an hourglass, pooling on the table between them in a mini salt avalanche.

". . . um, I think I'll go now." Scooting out from the kitchen, Jovian added his untouched breakfast incident to his mental list of what not-to- do's. "And you still need to get laid!" He called back, when he was a safe distance away, up the street.

Their next door neighbor, an old lady who had apparently been widowed four times over, and old enough to be their great grandmother stuck her head out the window. "Are you offering?" She cackled, pursing her wrinkled lips.

Backing away in horror, Jovian leapt into his Mercedes and sped off in a squeal of rubber tires and the sound of an exhaust gunning at full speed. Personally, he thought it was about time they moved houses. Fast.

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	2. Chapter 2

Thanks to:

Kiera Matthews, amber-rules, Arrylle Gamere, White-wolf2, Piscean Wisdom.

For reviewing! Bet you thought I quit, eh? Sorry about the extended wait… - I'll be focusing on this story from now. And you'll just have to see what happens ;)

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CHAPTER 2

…**_While tales vary on the number of Homer's "magic women of Cryene" (usually two or three), their Greek names were Himeropa ("arousing face"), Thalchtereia ("enchantress") and Aglaope ("glorious face"), and in Italy they were called Parthenope ("virgin"), Leucosia ("white goddess"), and Ligeia ("bright-voiced"). Of portent is the belief that Sirens were servants of Persephone, AKA the "Death Queen" "Destroyer" Goddess of the Underworld._**

"But I like this house." Kaz said stubbornly, cleft chin high in defiance. His spiky violet-tipped hair moved in accordance with his shaking head.

Jovian moaned in exasperation. "Come on, you'll like apartment even better! It's got a river view, we can have parties, we don't have to mow the friggin' back yard!"

"There's another reason you want to move, isn't there?" Kaz asked him, all innocence. The slight upward curl in the corner of his mouth indicated he knew full well why Jovian wanted to move.

Jovian glared at him through icy blue eyes, "That is NOT funny, you know. That… that… _woman_ is a nymphomaniac!"

"Who, Rosa?" Kaz raised his brows inquiringly, still maintaining the cloak of perfect innocence. "She's a darling."

"She is insatiable." This was said in the tones of absolute disgust.

"She baked you cookies today, Jovy darling." Kaz cooed, trying to hold back the wide grin stretching his mouth.

Jovian shot him a look that could have been jealousy. "Yeah, offering us sweets like the wicked witch. Why doesn't she molest _you_? Why does it have to be me!"

Kaz looked him over sympathetically. "Maybe the old lady has a thing for blonde shifters. Especially that floppy type of charming streaked blond, and your sunny smile…" He took a look at Jovian's expression and burst out laughing, holding his sides and rolling around on the living room floor.

"I'm glad you find all this amusing, you blood sucking leech." Jovian muttered, "If she makes lewd advances to me again I'm going to shave off my charming golden hair and never smile again."

Kaz snorted. "Yeah, whatever – as if your vanity would allow you to shave your head. A leopard never changes its spots."

"Oh why don't you just go rob a blood bank or something."

This good-natured ribbing was familiar between them. Kaz raised his brows. "Rrroww!" he laughed.

"Bite me!" They shouted at each other in unison.

* * *

An open CD cover lay carelessly on his desk, glinting in a metallic sheen, the color of dark, spilt blood in the starlight. He scanned the lyrics of Trance. What a debut. What an entrance to the music world.

… Moonless night

Darkness consumes

The shadow's light

Take me far

Come follow me

To the stars

And beyond

Eternity and over

Don't speak

Don't think

Follow your heart

Follow the light

Hold my hand

No wrong or right

Let magic weave

Let night deceive

Only you and me

You and me…

You and me…

Oh, Shaera, what a complicated game you play!

Alone, the lyrics were not so special. Together with the mesmerizing beat and melody, it was catching, haunting even. A song of impact, a song remembered, lingering in the recesses of consciousness, echoing in the silences.

But combined with her voice, it was lethal.

And she had the looks to complete the killer package he mused, turning the cover to see her photo. A face stared back at him, slightly startled, as if awakened for the first time, that first split second of recognition. Lips slightly parted, eyes wide and hair mussed, she was the epitome of sensual innocence, where one wanted to reach and touch beyond the rippled surface into the darker depths.

He certainly did.

Pretty? No. She was… sensual, magnificent, ravishing. Striking. Not… 'pretty'.

Night World? Most probably a witch, weaving spells in her music. But he could tell her voice was natural. Well, not exactly natural, it was a gift. Vampire? Possible, though her skin was slightly dusky rather than marble pale. Shifter? Likely, he decided, but he couldn't sense any particular animal in her. The guitarist was though, a big feline of some kind. Cheetah, lion or leopard, maybe.

Human? _Impossible_.

And yet there was something of human vulnerability lurking in those sea green eyes. But no human could possibly look like that - _sing_ like that.

_Part Goddess,_ his mind joked_, Siren_.

Good Heavens, what a thought.

He was mystified.

For the hundredth time, he put her CD in the stereo and pressed play.

* * *

The city was its usual hustle and bustle on a Thursday afternoon. Students milled in groups, tugging at their uniforms and kicking around their huge school bags. People shopped, walking on the pedestrian paths, each face different to the next, with a different gait, smile and wearing all colors under the sun. There were lovers, walking hand in hand, adults pushing baby prams and children face full of sticky ice cream and gurgling at their proud parent. There were girls shopping and talking, and guys sitting in groups, watching them surreptitiously. It was an amazing myriad of society, an intricate dance of human interaction, and the web of fate spun on . . .

She sat on the benches alone, watching day unfold with a small pad of paper on her jean-clad thighs, and a pen tucked behind her ear, beneath a low baseball cap. She had been careful to tuck away her telltale silvery hair, careful to wear a baggy sweatshirt. She wanted to be invisible today, just another nameless face in the crowd, and invisible she was.

Perhaps it might bore others, sitting in the city and doing nothing for hours at a time. Just observing people, just drinking in the essence of the CBD. But it was a part of Shaera's inspiration. Seeing the exotic in the mundane was perhaps a gift, perhaps a curse. Her lips gave a small, bitter twist. Vague memories pushed at her consciousness, images, half-spoken words and throaty laughter. It was in the past . . . the past.

A peal of genuine laughter broke through, startling her. She turned her face slightly to see a teenage boy spraying water from the fountain at a pretty girl, who was throwing her head back and laughing, with simple, unadorned joy.

How could anyone see the world as mundane? Shaera marveled, seeing the way the sunlight fractured through the water droplets, shining like shattered diamonds, the boy's mischievous eyes, the graceful arch of the girl's neck against the cool spray and that moment of pure happiness_, God, the happiness_.

Shaera's eyes burned, the emerald green of them suddenly hungry. What she wouldn't give, to be able to laugh like that, what she wouldn't do to have a moment of pure light, without shadows fettering in her wake and her inner darkness clamoring at her.

Always, we want what we can't have. Such a simple human desire.

Such a simple human error.

She sighed - of envy and disgust, feeling the constant emptiness she was unable to fill. She was drawn to the light, but she belonged in the darkness. And she could see it there, in the reaches of the city. She was more aware of it, highly sensitized to that which beckoned to her nature.

There was strength in yielding, and she had surrendered to the darkness long ago. There is something almost alluring about someone with nothing of themselves left to lose. Correction, she only did one part of herself that belonged to her, that she cherished. Her music. And even that, they wanted to take from her. The only release, the only freedom, the only passion left to her – and they wanted to reclaim it.

Agents wanted to stamp their signature and money over her voice. People bought it in the form of a platinum disk. The media used it as another source to blame. But her _freedom_ in singing whatever she wanted, her freedom in writing those songs, her release of the building darkness inside her – it was the only thing that meant anything to her. Not pride, not vanity, not even self-respect.

Her music.

It was always something that belonged with her, and she could see it now, the dark throbbing pulse in shadows of the city and the unformed words swirling in her mind. Her fingers itched to write, and drawing the pen from her ear, she wrote a single word on the pristine pad_: Destroyed_.

If the media hated "_Trance_", then she couldn't wait to see how they would react to this new song. Her carved, full lips turned upwards in an ironical smile. Her dream as a little girl was that one day the world could hear her. Now she was realizing it, and she didn't care if it shocked, mocked or seduced. She wanted to draw out the truth in people, to tempt and release the wildness buried under the superficial skin.

She wanted to rock the world.

* * *

_Jason Mitchell wanted to forget. _

_His hand were damp with perspiration as he tugged at his tie to loosen the collar. Never like the damned thing anyway. But he had always done what he should. Always obeyed what he was told to… _

_Everyday … _

_Confined in this prison he once called home. But there was nothing left but emptiness and the sad, bitter taste of regret, a metallic, harsh layer on the back of his tongue. Like blood. _

_His eyes, blurry without his glasses, drifted to the white paper laid neatly on his desk. Who would have thought a simple, pale rectangle could bring such a constant, dull ache in his heart? _

_Divorce papers. _

_He spent his life trying to make a living for her – for them – and in return for the years he put through, she left him with divorce papers. Already filled out with black letters - precise, and unbelievably cold. Sign here. This last dotted line would signify the end of their relationship. 10 years. _

_10 years down the drain… _

_He didn't like to think of himself as weak, didn't want to think about anything except escaping from this place, escaping from his life, from the gray cold days and monotonous computer screens, from day after day in the office, from a life devoid of any love, warmth or joy. No, he wasn't weak, exactly… but he just hurt so much there… just there… and it would be so easy to forget… _

_Forget the pain… forget the pressure… forget he ever existed. _

_No one would miss him. _

_How did he ever end up so empty? So lonely? How did his path take him here? _

_He just didn't want to see tomorrow… didn't want to spend another day in that suit… didn't want to face his failures… _

_His hands were shaking as they caressed the cool, sleek steel of the gun. So dangerous, brutal, yet strangely seductive… in the semi darkness the muzzle shone blue-black, almost like liquid, like the last, final elixir… _

_So tantalizingly easy. _

_Gently, his forefinger lifted the safety catch. The soft click sent a rush through him, A frisson of feeling instead of the constant aching numbness. _

_He just wanted some peace… wanted to sleep and never wake up… _

_So easy. _

_She'll be sorry… she'll be sorry… _

_The explosion rocketed through the sleepy suburban homes, just as her key turned in the lock. Letting out a scream of alarm, she fumbled with the latch and rushed inside, in time to see him slump, his tired body crumpled, his gun hand falling… falling… _

_His nerveless fingers hitting the remote control on the table as he fell, whirring the CD player to life, the disc spinning inside. _

_And that's how the police found them, him, resting in a flood of crimson, her, frozen to the ground, shocked beyond belief, and the silky voice of Shaera serenading "Stop the race… Sleep, my baby… close your eyes…forever, oh forever… in my embrace…"_

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Thanks for reading! All comments/ ideas will be appreciated!


	3. Chapter 3

Thanks to all the gorgeous people who reviewed, your encouragement means a lot to me.

This chapter is for: Dark Angel's Blue Fire, Piscean Wisdom, Mental Twitch 'Sh33r's, Annad and BC-Dancer.

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CHAPTER 3

**siren song n (1568): an alluring utterance or appeal; esp: one that is seductive or deceptive**

She woke up, panting.

Another night.

Another nightmare.

Always, the same strange dream pushing at her, a sea of nothingness so heavy the silence seem to drown her. A mind numbing whiteness roaring in her mind, mocking blankness where she thought maybe she had forgotten something… something important…

And then the screaming. Blood curling screams, fear, hatred, impotence, but the worst sound that ate at her was the keening of loss.

The cries of helpless, heartbreaking loss that began as someone else's voice then melted into her own, echoing deep, deep inside.

The first hooks of consciousness dug into her mind and sitting upright, breathing hard, she clutched the sheets to her with hands that trembled, a ghost of her usual self.

Staring into the darkness, she tried to gain a sense of her bearings, a sense of who she was.

The tangle of white sheets felt familiar around her skin. The room was the same, haloed silver where the moon spilled in through the slats of the curtain. The breathing punctuating the silence was her own.

Alone. Always alone.

It was her secret, this time of the night. It was her secret - the terrible, strange dreams that haunted her at night, when she was most vulnerable.

It never got better, each time the fear ate at her insides, each time the feeling made her feel sick.

But the screaming had only started lately.

… _**influenced by your music… attempted suicide…**_

Slowly, tentatively, she stretched out her feet to the cool floor and shuffled towards her bathroom, feeling the darkness soothe her pounding heartbeat.

Spoilt, June had called her. Spoilt girl with her own ensuite bathroom, own private apartment.

But she never felt spoilt in her life. Always – empty. Always – unsatisfied

She turned the tap and felt the cold water gush and trickle between her fingers. She splashed it on her face, wishing she could wash away more than the sheen of sweat beading her skin.

Her reflection stared back at her, as if searching for some kind of answer.

Pale. She looked so pale, so haunted.

Weak.

Damnit, she was not going to spend another sleepless night in this place. If she was going to stay awake she might as well do it with style.

Flinging open her closet, she flipped the dress off the hook.

* * *

The Empress was a more exclusive club, expensive in taste, décor and entry fee.

There were details at every turn, jagged lights hung from the ceiling like icicles in one corner, nooks in the wall for people to cuddle. Screens were everywhere, showing a feline eye, icy blue, roaming the crowd. The black railings glittered under the gothic lights, woven like chords of vines along the staircase. A girl in a feathered boa danced on top of the bar.

It was a mad, mad place, where whacked imagination came to life.

People gyrated on the dance floor, and stage balcony, and higher up people leaned down over two balconies, and with the lights and smoke and disco ball throwing shafts of colors into the vast hall, in the semi darkness the place looked like Hades.

Hell, with all the sinners partying.

People writhed in the semi darkness, in the throbbing light their movements somehow silent and sensual, and under the roving spotlights they could have been naked. It seemed like a dance of sin, misted and jailed, the sea of people moving as a mindless, contorted mass.

But there was no doubt of who was the Queen of the dance floor.

She had been here often in the last weeks, sometimes alone in the higher lookouts, watching, absorbing. Drinking in the sights, smells and the explosion of life and tempers. Sometimes she laughed, flirted, and left entwined with another.

But tonight, she danced.

Amidst the blacks and patterns, sequins and flares, her simple white transformed into haloed silk under the UV lights, wrapping her waist as tenderly as a new lover, trailing after her movements. There was something in the way she held herself that spoke volumes... of confidence... of knowledge. Knowing her profile was flawless and defined. Knowing how to be at one with the music, to dissolve and be devoured within it, and find release. Knowing... how to draw eyes and hold them in her spotlight.

And all the time, the beat of the music rocked the very foundations of the massive building. The beat was so intense, she felt her whole body vibrate with it.

It was a dance of passion.

Passion, because she knew nothing else. Shaera didn't know how to do things by halves. She didn't understand why some would choose to be pastel when they could be brilliant. Didn't understand the meaning of plainness.

But she understood subtlety, the sensuality of whisper over a shout, she understood mystery, how half revealed can be more tantalising than bared, evoking imagination and the desire to see more, and more still...

She understood the darkest of human desires and the darkest of human natures.

Understood only too well.

The strobe light framed each movement in a stark holocaust, the length of a slender neck, cat lilted eyes half closed in both agony and ecstasy, the sway of hips and lips half forming words in silent prayer. She was an exquisite harmony of dualities - hunter and victim, strength and weakness. Seductress or prey?

Feminine... or feline?

It was a dance to drown in. A dance to forget.

The night deepened then slowly slid into a sweet dawn, though they did not know as the pulse of the club blinded them to the world outside. It didn't matter if the sky was starless, or the air cold, all they were focused on, all they were aware of, was the minx in white dancing as if it were the Armageddon, as if there was no tomorrow, ignoring them all as if she couldn't see them. But each thought he would be the one to break the trance and get her to notice him.

He would be the only one.

He knew it, like he knew his own heartbeat...

Just like the other beside him, looking, watching, yearning...

And finally, she opened emerald eyes to see them, and smiled.

The bouncer wondered if he would have to kick the boys out by packs before they started a riot on the dance floor.

* * *

If he hadn't been carrying that huge folder, he would have seen the woman before they collided. She swore, and the files in his arms tumbled onto the pavement, papers flying.

"I'm sorry, so sorry." She mumbled, bending to hastily help him pick up the files.

_Idiot human_, he thought, but kept the tight smile on his face.

She hadn't meant to look. Hadn't meant to intrude – after all, she had other things to do. But the photo jumped out at her.

Such a familiar face. Stunning. Exotic.

"Ahh… isn't that the new singer? Shaera, isn't it?" She frowned, and unaware of what she was doing, flicked through the stack of papers she had collected.

The singer stared back at her each time, from different locations, in different outfits. Some were professional photos, others unaware. Sitting at a coffee shop with a companion. Walking into a club alone.

"If you please."

She glanced up, saw his stiff hand outstretched, waiting for her to return the files as if she had tried his patience. Flushing, she dropped the papers into his palm.

"Big fan, are you?" But the documents looked kind of official. "Media?"

His chin tilted slightly with distain. Maybe he had listened to her CD a few times – okay… many times – but it was degrading to be labeled as either. Mindless, pack followers. Not he.

Shaera was not the only one who knew how to play complicated games.

"Government documents. Council." He explained quickly, allowing a flash of smile to brush her off. "If you'll excuse me…"

He gave her a nod then strode past, ignoring her puzzled frown. She was insignificant, and humans were easily fooled. There was no need to explain _which_ Council, no need to rub the Night World's superiority into their faces. He simply didn't have time for it.

He was focused on Shaera, and the new puzzle she presented. Shaera, and the news he had unearthed through several interviews and discrete checks. Nevermind the ways he conducted the interviews – if any other Council members had issues about his methods of work, they were paid well enough to ignore it.

But he had come upon something very, very interesting.

But what was more interesting was what he could do with this information. A frisson of pleasure trailed hot in his veins – so much power. The decision that could ruin a life, secrets buried deep lay open before him, ready to be used and manipulated.

Ready to be exposed.

* * *

"Snap out of it." Jovian clicked his fingers in her face and watched her startle and blink. "Are you in the same world as I am? Hello? Are you tanked? It's too early in the morning to drink – although I did have some beer, mind you-"

"I'm fine." She interrupted. And sighed. "Start again. From D major."

"We've tried the chorus all morning," Kaz murmured, his brown fingers rubbing his temple as if trying to ward off a headache. "It's not working."

"We'll make it work!" She insisted, emerald eyes intense, ignoring the sleepless fatigue eating at her like a true slave driver. "We _must_ make it work."

"Take a break," Kaz met her eyes and held them, matched them.

Jovian flung off his guitar delightedly, oblivious to the sudden tension. "Hell yes, great idea, buddy. I've been needing to piss for the last hour, but Shaera here's been scary as – see you in 30."

She swung to him, her lips half curved. Despite everything, he always could make her smile. "It doesn't take so long to go to the toilet – what are you, the king of constipation?"

"It'll take me 15 minutes just to stretch my perfect, mile-long legs." He shot back, grinning, before the door slammed behind him.

The sudden silence unnerved her.

"Ah… Have you spoken to Thistle lately? Damn Agent, I couldn't get a hold of her." She turned to Kas but recoiled when she realized he had walked up behind her. Gently, he touched her chin and coaxed her face round to his own.

"Look at you," he said softly, "Shadows under your eyes, pale… haven't you been sleeping?"

She jerked her face away, and he cursed himself for the jab of pain he felt when she turned from him.

"I went to The Empress last night."

His brows shot up. "Again?"

Shaera shrugged, and busied herself by tidying the manuscripts. "It helps me… forget things."

Seeking an oblivion she could never have. If such a thing existed.

Kaz hesitated. He hated to ask, but the question dragged out from his lips despite himself. "What are those men to you, Shaera?"

Her eyes swung to his, and she looked at him directly. Tilted her silvery head.

How many people were there last night, again? Who was it that chased her outside, tried to convince her?

_Just another handsome face, voice eager and breathless, asking if he could see her again_.

_They are nothing to me. Distractions. _

_Playthings_.

Her lips twisted in a smile bitter and beguiling. "That's my business. You know that, Kaz."

He waited until she was at the door, her artist's fingers caressing the steel handle.

"What am I to you?"

It was said softly, very softly, but he knew she heard by the way her back straightened, rigid, almost.

The words hung in the air between them, tense and fragile.

Her face turned a fraction, barely noticeable.

_Answer me, damn you._

But then her fingers tightened on the handle and she walked away.

* * *

"It's been happening again, hasn't it?"

Annoyed, Shaera looked up from her notes. "What?"

"The Nightmares,"

"Are you my mother or my shrink?"

June set her cup down beside Shaera's and eased herself into the chair with a sigh. "I can always tell, you know… after another bout of nightmares you get irritable." She eyed Shaera's posture. "And sloppy."

"Are you suggesting there is something wrong with my posture?" Shaera yawned, eyeing her long legs resting on the balcony railing, the way her clothing wrinkled from the way she was scrunched up and lost in the seat. "I don't come here to get lectured, June."

For a moment, the blonde woman looked sad.

At that, Shaera raised her hand. "Please… don't start."

"Alright… alright… geez, you're just perky today aren't you. I missed your sparkling personality."

"And you call _me_ sarcastic."

The silence between them was comfortable, two women outside on the porch, feeling the sun. This house was the rare places that put Shaera at ease. The place that held memories and familiarity, the good and bad of growing up.

At length, June turned to her, serious this time. "How bad is it?"

Shaera fiddled with her pen. She hadn't told her yet, hadn't mentioned about the screaming, the chilling cries that haunted her. Somehow it was – personal. Somehow, she was reluctant to share it, like a painful secret.

"I can handle it." Or she could until she broke.

Broke into pieces too small to pick up again.

June watched her, with eyes that worried, her usually soft lips tight.

There was so much she wanted to say, but couldn't. Not yet. Not now.

"You will tell me… won't you?" It sounded more like a plea than a question, even to her ears. "If you are in trouble."

"I can handle it," Shaera repeated, staring at her pad so hard she lost focus, watching the words blur and run until they meant nothing at all. "As long as I have my singing, I can handle it."

June felt a chill run through spine, like a bad premonition. _Nothing. That was nothing_, She told herself_. The breeze_.

"They can't take that away from me," It came out as a whisper, a vow. "I won't let them."

Suddenly, she just felt tired. Famous, brittle, and tired.

"Why is it never enough, June? Why is it never enough…"

But June couldn't find an answer.

* * *

Thanks for reading! Any comments, suggestions and ideas will be loved. 


	4. Chapter 4

Just to avoid any confusion, the main character is Shaera, who is in a band with Jovian and Kaz. There is the ambiguous relationship with June and a mystery man who is following up on Shaera, both of whom you will meet again in this chapter.

Other characters mentioned are Thistle, who is Shaera's agent. And a few fans, who have attempted or committed suicide.

There is also Rosa, who is Jovian & Kaz's grandmotherly neighbour and who has her eye on Jovian.

Thanks for following this story – and to the reviewers, who inspired me to keep writing despite the busy schedule.

Chapter 4 is for Mental Twitch 'Sh33r's, Piscean Wisdom, Dark Angel's Blue Fire and Pixie Lew.

Any comments/ suggestions are welcome!

* * *

CHAPTER 4

_**Whether Sirens had fish or bird bodies, clearly they symbolize a dual nature-- part animal, part human. Birds are often associated as mediaries between the material and spiritual worlds, and have been known to transport the dead on their wings.**_

_Hi, This is Thistle. I not at home right now – but leave a message after the tone and I'll get back to you as soon as possible…ciao -_

"Thistle? It's me. Where have you been? I've been trying to contact you for the past week! I need to talk to you about the band…" Shaera's fingers closed around the latest article, scrunching it into a ball and aimed it towards the bin. "And the media. The newspapers have been going crazy…and a few days ago, there was this rude cop… nevermind. Call me soon ok?"

Shaera hung the receiver in the cradle and leaned on the wall, frowning.

Where was she? Why wasn't she replying?

As a friend, slight, blonde haired Thistle was deceptively strong and smart. As an agent, Thistle was organized to the extreme. Shaera had expected Thistle to knock on her door days ago to devise some kind of media control, but Thistle was nowhere to be seen. Or contacted.

The last time this ever happened… no, this had never happened before. The small knot of tension in her stomach tightened, and the slight throbbing pulse at the back of her mind threatened an oncoming headache.

"Shaera?" She turned her head to see June standing in the hallway, wringing her hands on an old, fraying apron. "Honey, when did you come in? I didn't hear you…"

"I just came in to make a call. I can't contact Thistle… something's wrong." Her eyes sharpened as June made a start at Thistle's name. "Have you heard from her?"

"Ah… last time I spoke to her she wasn't feeling well." Usually understated but immaculately tidy, June's short hair was wayward and unbrushed, with uncharacteristic hollows under her eyes. Something seemed to have reached under her unfaltering calm and ruffled her.

"You don't look so good today yourself. Do you want to go lie down or something?"

June sniffed. "Night world people don't get sick," she said, unaware that she had just contradicted herself.

"June…"

"Why didn't you ever call me 'Mother'?" The moment it slipped out from her lips, June wished she could bite them back. Perhaps it was the fatigue, the sudden loneliness that made her speak without thinking.

Immediately, Shaera's expression turned wary. Usually they avoided having this conversation. Shifting from the wall, uneasily, Shaera mumbled, "Because technically, you aren't… because I'm…"

Adopted.

And it had never felt right to call her 'Mother'. But Shaera didn't want to say it, didn't want to see June grimace at those words. But she might as well have.

June's lips were tight.

"And you certainly don't look like anyone's mother. You look my age, what if humans heard?" Shaera added. She had meant it to be light-hearted, but it didn't seem to cheer June up.

She was staring at Shaera in a strange way.

Then, as if to wake herself up, she shook her head and smiled wryly, a familiar expression that unknotted some of the building tension. "I'm not feeling quite right today, honey, you better let me get some rest."

"If you're sure…" Shaera stopped at the front door and studied the women that had brought her up, the mask of Night World youth stretched across a pretty, ageless body. "Take care."

"Wait," June reached out and placed a small packet into Shaera's hands. "You'll need to take these. One before bed each night."

Shaera looked at the plastic wrapping and saw small round pills. "These again?"

" It will help you sleep. I know you've had nightmares, quit suffering silently. You don't have to be a martyr. We're here to help you."

"We?" Arching a brow, Shaera slipped the packet into her pocket.

"Me. Thistle. Your friends – the boys from your band."

Shaera hesitated by the door and flashed her a rare smile, unguarded and young. "Thanks, June."

June watched her leave, a solitary girl climbing into the car with long legs and felt her heart weigh heavy as the engine revved. Watching Shaera's car disappear into the distance, she sent a short prayer to the Goddess.

_Forgive me. _

A long, dark figure unfurled himself from the shadows of the porch, where he had been watching the exchange silently.

"So, tell me, Ms. Harman. How does it feel to lie to a loved one… day after day?"

June's head snapped around, and eyes widening, took in the tall man: the immaculate suit he wore, the folder he held, and the unearthly beautiful profile that clearly spelt Night-Worlder.

"I beg your pardon!"

"Beg all you like," He had the lips of an aristocrat, carved and full, stretched into a smile that didn't reach in eyes. "But it won't change a thing."

"Who do you think you are?" Drawing herself up in fury, June clenched her fists and glared at the intruder. "Get off my property!"

"I'm Rath." He said, with a politeness that bordered on insolence. He seemed more amused than intimidated. His eyes trailed over her in an once-over, missing nothing, lingering on her frayed apron. "I have been watching Shaera… and you."

_Witch. _

As if sensing his thoughts, she stiffened. Inexplicably sweating, she groped for the steel handle, preparing to slam the door in his arrogant face. "I have nothing to say to you."

"Will this change your mind?" With cruel and deliberate ease, he opened the folder.

It took a long moment to register in June's mind what she was seeing. Fear quickly followed disbelief. Her heart missed a beat. "How…?"

Rath smiled as he watched the blood drain from her face, relishing the scent of fear, his honed senses tuned to the way her breath shook and her pulse faltered slightly.

Witches were so vulnerable, really… without their potions and spells they were… so human. Like prey.

Ignoring the mild tingle in his jaw and the fangs aching to grow and feed, He gave her a little push inside and stepped through the door after her. "I think it's time we had a talk."

_And if you this is bad now, think again_. He mused. _You had it coming…_

The hunt had only just started.

* * *

"Earth to Kaz…" Jovian intoned, wriggling his fingers in true Martian style. When that didn't work he tried the robotic voice he'd been practicing last week, "Misterrr Kaaz Hawkinns. What iss goin' onn… inside that thick head of yours?"

Kaz sighed. He turned away from the kitchen window he'd been staring out of and cut his eyes to Jovian. "What?"

Giving up on the robot act – who wants to be a robot, anyway? – Jovian seated himself opposite his friend. "Lighten up, dude." He suggested diplomatically. "What's stuck up your butt?"

"Why don't you be a good pet and let me wallow in my depression?" Kaz muttered, only half joking.

Lifting both hands in a shrug, Jovian heroically ignored the remark. "I thought all that oxygen in the blood you vampires drink was meant to make you high."

Lifting a brow, Kaz retorted "Just like the protein in the meat you shifters eat – raw, I might add – is meant to make you – what, healthier? Smarter?"

"You're asking me?" Jovian grinned, "Why don't you take that question down to our local doctor? Now that woman is _fineee_, I could fake stomach aches every day just to –"

"Can we talk about this some other time?" Kaz groaned.

Assembling his lips into something precariously close to a pout, the blonde shifter said peevishly, "You never want to hear about my women."

"_Your_ women?" Kaz asked incredulously, and in spite of himself felt a grin tug at his lips.

Well… there. He had cheered his friend up. Maybe not the way he intended to, but Kaz laughing at him was better than not laughing at all, right?

"Hey," He protested, "_Some_ people want me, I'm not that unlovable. We have a pretty awesome fan base now, you and me."

Kaz felt his eyes drawn outside the window again, "I'm not interested."

Jovian leaned forward, his blue eyes serious all of a sudden. "Kaz…"

"Uh…" Taken aback at the sudden change, Kaz frowned. "What?"

His voice quiet, Jovian said, "You can tell me, you know… you don't have to hide it."

An image of Shaera drifted across Kaz's mind, the conflicting emotions that those emerald eyes had expressed before they shifted away. The way she had paused before walking out on him, the door slamming in his face.

_What am I to you?_

He felt pain stab at his heart. "I …"

How could he express feelings so deep even he himself was troubled by? How could the words cross his lips… that he loved someone… beyond all reason? More than he imagined he was capable of.

That before he had been foolish enough to express his feelings, for a brief time he and Shaera had been close, and he thought he'd glimpsed a part of her that no one else had seen?

Which only made the loss of that bond harder.

That he'd went from a good friend to a complication in the space of less than three seconds, when he'd uttered those damning words.

_I'm falling for you._

And the hurt he felt when she froze on him, the laughter dying between them.

Best friend or not, how could Jovian understand this?

Life was simple for Jovian: he was so easygoing, absent minded and - although Kaz would rather bite off his tongue rather than admit it - oddly sweet.

"It doesn't make a difference," his friend was saying now, earnestly.

Absurdly touched, Kaz wondered if he should reconsider the proposal to move houses – and quit teasing his buddy about their next-door neighbour, Grandma Rosa. "Jovian…"

"Really… I don't mind if you're gay."

Kaz reared forwards. "What!"

Jovian frowned, and repeated it slowly as if Kaz was a dim student, "I said, I don't mind if you're-"

"I know what you said!" Spluttered Kaz. "I just- it's not…"

"What is it, man? Spit it out,"

The door opened just as Kaz stood up and shouted, "I'm NOT GAY!"

The room was thrown in sudden silence, as Jovian stared at Kaz, and Kaz stared at Shaera, who had just walked in the door.

She looked at them both, slightly bemused. "Am I interrupting something?"

"No!" They both said quickly.

"Alriight," Shaera tried to hide a smile, "you shouldn't leave your front door unlocked that that. Anyone could waltz right in… your next door neighbour, for instance."

"That nymphomaniac!" Jovian looked horrified at the very idea.

Kaz exchanged an amused look with Shaera, followed by a sharp twinge of nostalgia. They hadn't been on comfortable terms for all too long.

Shaera averted her gaze. "Uh… Jovian?" She said, looking at her feet as if they suddenly intrigued her. "I need to have a word with Kaz."

"Oh, right." Jovian nodded. "Go ahead."

He remained where he was.

They both looked at him expectantly.

"Alone?" Shaera supplied.

The penny dropped. "Ohhh…! Well… I'll be…in the other room. Eavesdropping. I mean. Watching TV."

Winking at Kaz, he sauntered out.

The two of them were left in the kitchen, suddenly awkward, suddenly strangers.

Coughing to cover his sudden nervousness - _What is this? I'm not a kid with a crush!_ - Kaz asked, "You were saying…?"

Her voice carefully neutral, Shaera said quietly. "It's not you."

Confused, Kaz simply shook his head.

"It's… not personal."

Coolly, he replied. "You should know by now that anything you say is deeply personal."

She closed her eyes.

"I think… I have a problem with… attachment. Relationships." Shaera ran a hand over her face, suddenly looking tired. "I'm not doing this right."

"There's no right or wrong between us… just tell me the truth."

"I never keep phone numbers." The words tumbled out in a rush, as she looked straight into his eyes. "I never go out with someone twice. I don't like to get involved… It's who I am… and I'm not about to make apologies for it."

He looked at her, waiting. Listening. He had always been a good listener.

"I don't have many friends. You were… you are… a good friend. But I don't do relationships… not even for you."

Angry, Kaz stood up. "Why don't you just come out and say it? That this is the sorry-but-you-re-just-a-friend speech? You don't have to wrap it up nicely for me." His words came out fiercer than he had intended, branching out from the hurt she elicited.

Instead of backing away or looking at him with regret – or worse, pity - Shaera's green eyes flashed with anger of her own. "_You're_ the one cheapening our friendship. Do you know what it means to me? You think I haven't thought about a relationship?"

"Then what's the problem?"

"I can't do it!" She yelled, good intentions flying out the window. "I've never been able to! There's just… something inside me. I know it would be wrong."

He looked so male, so confused that for a split second Shaera felt irrationally girly. She has always been aware of her femininity – explored it, exploited it… but never associated herself with the silly girlish games and weaknesses.

"Why." His voice sounded raw and foreign from his own lips.

"There are things… I can't explain." Aggravated, she jammed her hands in her pockets. "Friendship is the best I can offer you. Take it or leave it."

It was said in more or less a snarl; very different to the gentle explanation she had in mind when she was hit by the guilt after walking out on him last time. Guilt, confusion, and a strange, penetrating sorrow.

How could she explain something she didn't completely understand herself?

She lifted her hand to her temple to regain some sanity, and a small package fell from her pocket.

Kaz bent down and picked it up off the floor, staring at the round pills it contained underneath the clear plastic. She tried to snatch it off him but he deflected her. "Why…?"

"Sleeping pills." She said quickly, hating to expose her weakness. The nightmares that kept her restless like a terrible, dark secret. Annoyed, she reached for it again. "Give them back."

"Shaera…" Kaz said slowly, "Where did you get these?"

"June gave them to me today,"

"_June?" _He looked incredulous_. "_Your _mother_ gave you these!"

"What?" She said defensively, "So I have a little trouble with sleeping."

"Shaera… these aren't sleeping pills. I've seen these before. They are memory suppressors. Very powerful, very effective... And they're illegal."

* * *


	5. Chapter 5

A BIG Thank You to Mental Twitch 'Sh33r's, Enigmatic Piscean, Piscean Wisdom and Operation Ivy for taking the time to review!

I'm not sure if memory suppressors exist, but I intended the pills to be illegal in the night world.

Yes, I'm horrible and I take forever to update, but here it is - -

* * *

**_The sweetness of their voices was such that Odysseus could not have resisted their invitation had he not followed Circe's advice and taken precaution of having himself lashed to the mast of his ship. As for his companions, he cautiously stopped up their ears with wax. Thus they escaped the fearful danger._**

**But the human bones scattered over the green fields of the Siren Island bore mute witness to the imprudence of former sailors and to the ferocity of these insidious-voiced creatures.**

CHAPTER 5

"You have some explaining to do!"

June looked up to see silver haired Shaera glowering at the doorway, eyes spitting rage.

"Shaera…" She said weakly.

"Why did you lie to me?" Storming over to where she sat, Shaera threw down the pills onto the living room table. A creature of emotion, she was magnificent in her anger. Magnificent… and a little inhuman. "These are memory suppressors, not sleeping pills. And they're illegal!"

A turmoil of emotion rippled over June's face, before she covered it with both hands, as if trying to block out the world – or hide her own shame.

Her anger blending with alarm and worry, Shaera blurted out the one word she had never uttered before: "Mum?"

They both froze. June didn't know whether to laugh or cry at the exquisite irony of it all, hearing the one word she'd wanted to hear ever since taking Shaera under her wing and discovering maternal instincts. Hearing it just before the moment Shaera would hate her forever.

Something seemed to crumple inside her, as she looked at Shaera with sad eyes, suddenly old and distraught.

"You better sit down."

Sensing something dark stirring within the woman opposite her, Shaera sat wordlessly, unsure of herself.

"I knew this day would come," June murmured with a heavy sigh, "But I had hoped I could keep you safe from it. I guess, now that you're growing past your teens… you're starting to…."

There was a long pause. Nervousness made Shaera's voice pitch higher "What?"

"Your… your real parentage."

She had said it. They both contemplated in the silence that seemed to signify the end of the pretense between them. The pretense of being a family.

Caught in a maze of loss, fear and rising excitement, Shaera stared at June with wide eyes, her whole body seeming to tremor, on the brink of discovering answers she'd waited a lifetime for.

"Do you know what you are?" June asked softly.

Shaera nodded. "I know I'm part shifter. I can shift a little. But not fully – is that why they didn't want me?" She said, suddenly vulnerable, feeling like a child again. "Because I'm half breed?"

"You can shift?" This was the first time June had heard of it. Startled, she asked, "Into what?"

Shaera hesitated. "I don't do this often. But I'll show you," She said finally.

Closing her eyes, she concentrated her breathing and felt the tingle along her spine, whether it was by magic in her blood, or the feeling of muscles regrouping, she wasn't sure. An itch formed along her shoulder blades, strengthening and protruding until the small pain told her it had broke through the skin. And her wings then slowly unfolded, like a soft sigh of relief, fluttered and spread out across her slender back.

She looked up, a beautiful creature with golden skin, hunter green eyes and wings as white as snow. A myth brought to life.

June released a breath she hadn't realized she was holding. Her daughter… so foreign and yet so achingly beautiful, in a form delicate yet with eyes half wild. Winged, like an angel. And yet somehow more animalistic and inhuman, even beyond that of Night Worlders.

An Angel of another, darker realm. An angel of death.

Warding off the sudden chill, June averted her eyes.

The wings slowly slid and folded back into Shaera, and her expression looked a little more human and less brilliant.

"We don't know about your father – or whether you have one at all."

Confused, Shaera said, "What do you mean? Everyone has a father."

June paused. Her eyes never leaving Shaera's face, she took a deep breath. "We're not sure if Sirens had fathers."

This was followed by the longest silence possible. Shaera thought she had heard wrong. But it was impossible – "That's just a nickname," she said numbly.

June's eyes had started to water. She shook her head.

"Are you trying to tell me… that I'm…?" It was too ludicrous for words. "I mean – they don't even exist. It was just a legend. Wasn't it?"

There was nothing between them except the sound of quickened breathing.

"Wasn't… it?" Shaera repeated.

"They're as real as the dragons." June tried for a smile, but didn't quite make it. "It was hundreds of years ago, after the war with the dragons. You've heard about that."

Shaera nodded slowly. All Night World kids knew the historical battle of the witches and dragons, and the deep enchantment that held them asleep beneath the earth even today.

"The Sirens caused too many deaths," June cringed as she realized the implication it made on the species – that included Shaera. "They were not as bad as the legends made them out to be," she rushed on quickly, "but it is true that they were extremely beautiful and their song seductive. The newly formed Council decided that measures needed to be taken against them, and once again it turned into the responsibility of the Witches."

Her eyes searched Shaera's beseechingly, hoping for forgiveness. Dreading for any sign of pain, but Shaera was unreadable.

"Whatever the result may seem," She said softly, "Witches are more merciful than the others. The Council would have slain them, but we put them under the same sleeping enchantments as the dragons. Remember that."

Shaera looked startled. "_We_?" She asked. "You were there?"

It had been duty. It had been the right thing to do. June knew that, but it didn't stop the flood of guilt overwhelming her. "Yes," She whispered. "I was there."

"H- How old are you?"

How could she have be raised by a person and never really knew them at all?

"Very old." June sighed, realizing the words were absurd coming from a teenager's body. "More than 800 years old. We went to the islands, where the shores were scattered with bones, and fought. It didn't last long. They were outnumbered, and other than their beautiful and deadly voices, were not as powerful as the dragons. We got them all, except one."

Shaera had heard some of the myths before. "Parthenope threw herself into the sea."

"Yes." Her eyes far away, June gave a small smile. "It was an incredibly willful and brave thing to do. We were all shocked, the waves around that island were terrible – seething, foaming, as if it were the center of the Goddess' rage. We thought she wouldn't survive it."

"But she did?"

June lowered her gaze. "The rumours only came afterwards. Strange sightings… whispers of a immortal and inhuman woman… and her baby."

Shaera's breath caught in her throat. "My mother?"

"Yes."

It seemed to Shaera as if something had broke free inside her, a sense of incredible wonder and tenderness, and strangely, relief for finally having found a piece of her identity. A piece of herself. "What happened?"

June turned away.

"June!" Without knowing how she got there, Shaera was kneeling in front of her foster mother, clutching at her sleeves, her knuckles showing white. "June… what happened!"

June turned to her slowly, and Shaera could see the regret that rippled in the ancient eyes. "I was too late." She whispered, "The Council got to her first."

"They killed her."

It was not a question. Shaera swallowed. "Why didn't they kill me?"

"I don't know." June looked at her. "I don't know how they missed you – or what horrors you might have seen… but you were found later. Years later. By me."

Silence fell between them.

"Everyone saw Sirens as monsters." Shaera said hoarsely, "Why didn't you put me to sleep? If it was so long ago, why am I only 19 now?"

"You were just a little girl!" June cried, "We wanted to give you a chance! Only a small group of witches knew – it was too risky in that time where the council was searching for you. We put an enchantment on you – froze the time around you, and washed your memory. You've been asleep for many years, in the form of the little girl. You awoke as my daughter."

Shaera was silent, as if she were carved from stone.

"The council should have forgotten you by now… but when you started releasing the CDs…" June broke off, thinking of the arrogant, cruel face and his parting words.

_Goddess, What do I do? How do I tell her?_

Very, very stiffly, Shaera spoke. "The suicides… are they really… because of my singing?"

"Shaera…" June covered her mouth in dismay, but it was not something she could not answer. She had been asking herself the same question time and time again. All these years and still the shadow of doubt lingered.

_Have I done the right thing_?

Shaera stood up quickly, and swayed a little. For a moment, her huge luminous eyes looked up, and seemed to have drained of all color, to bare a soul too close the brink of shattering.

She had waited a long time to hear the secrets, to discover why she was always different, why the darkness ate at her, why temptation drew around her as seductive as the night.

But maybe the truth was more than she could bear.

All that was precious to her… all that she knew…

All that she was worth…

"Shaera!" Through all the years, through the good and bad, June had never seen her looking like this. Scared for her, for both of them, she reached out, but Shaera was already backing away, her expression blank.

Without warning, she turned and made for the door, stumbling like a blind woman.

"Shaera!" Caught between wanting to follow her and knowing she should give her space, June stood frozen in the living room, as the door slammed shut.

_But I haven't told you everything…_

* * *

That night was the worst by far. 

She had crawled into bed and tried to pretend she didn't exist. Hugged the blankets tight around her and buried her face into the pillow, but even there, the nightmares invaded her.

It began as the same dream – the numbness, blank and terrible, followed by screams. Gutted and unending, the keening clawed at her mind like grief, eating into her soul. But this time instead of fear and confusion, she felt guilt.

And then a vague image surfaced into her mind. It was a beach, long and gray, where the sand was gritty beneath her feet, cut by tiny rocks, and the ocean a dull and mutinous roar. A sound made her look back, where a woman lay amongst bodies littered in the tentative embrace of the ocean and sand.

A woman whose round face was cut with cruel lines of pain, fear and hate, staring at her, straight at her, tears frozen on her cheeks.

Shaera saw herself as a little girl, saw herself turn and keep walking, face unreadable, eyes clear. As if her small feet did not feel the sharp shards of rock underneath, or if her eyes did not see the dead men lying in the sand, eyes open and staring, empty of life and soul.

She watched in horror as the woman behind her started wailing, a desolate keen that set her teeth on edge. "MONSTER!" The woman cried after her small retreating body, "Monster!"

The words haunted her as she sat up, finally awake and panting, finding her forehead drenched in sweat and her whole body shaking.

Monster.

Monster.

_I should never have been born. _

Unable to do anything, she curled herself tight and let the hot tears flow.

* * *

**_Wouldst that I could sleep and sleep... and sleep forever._**


	6. Chapter 6

Big, smackin' thanks to: SilverPhoenix 007, Miss Mary Lou, Honeyblank, Mental Twitch 'sh33r's, Grey with Silver at the Depths for being wonderful reviewers.

It's been a long time... but I finally have gotten to a computer with internet with Chapter 6, long story... but nevertheless I hope you enjoy.

P.S. Sirens didn't have wings, hmm? There are quite a lot of versions, in some they had part bird bodies, but none of them looked the way Shaera does. However, here's something to think about: who was her father?

* * *

CHAPTER 6

_There is no fool like an educated fool_

"What do you mean, she's _gone_?" Kaz couldn't help the way his voice raised, putting a larger question mark on the end of the sentence than he had intended.

Even the normally cheerful, though adorably not-there Jovian looked astonished. "You mean… not there? Kaput? _Vanished?_"

June sighed, her fingers drumming into her temple like pincers. "_Yes,_ gone! She's left the apartment, packed some clothes, and the car has disappeared. GONE!"

"How did you manage to lose her?" Kaz blurted out, before he could stop himself. He fought a shiver as June turned fierce eyes toward him, like twin lasers. If looks could kill… he would be in pieces too small for vulture food.

"We are _all_ supposed to look after her," She hissed, stabbing a finger at their chests, "and that includes _you_, and _you_!"

"And Thistle," Jovian muttered. "We should have known something was up when she-"

"There is no point talking about it now." June started pacing her home, the confines of it suddenly like a prison. "I have the council beating on my door, that lower than life form, scum of the earth, that weed, that miserable excuse for a lamia - _threatened_ me…"

Usually so calm, so cool, so pious… the quiet ones really were the most surprising when pushed over the edge.

"Let's forget about this Roth character for now…" Kaz said soothingly.

"RATH!"

"Okay, Roth, Rath, Wraith, whatever…"

"I'm really going to lose it soon!" June wailed.

"You mean she hasn't already?" Jovian meant it as a whisper, but the poor boy didn't have a clue how sharp June's ears were. She rewarded him with a blistering stare.

"Don't you realize this is my _daughter_," She said through gritted teeth, her voice cracking slightly. "Don't you realize that despite everything I _love_ her? What if she never forgives me? What if she runs into danger? She's _vulnerable_ right now!"

"June…" Exasperated, Kaz took a deep breath. "Why didn't you tell her earlier about her past? Why were you giving her memory suppressors for heaven's sake… if you had told her sooner…"

She drew herself up defensively. "When I hired you to look after her, I said I would explain in good time, you _agreed_ not to speak about it. You should not have told her about those pills,"

"It's just wrong." Kaz argued back, not backing down one inch "We are much more than bodyguards to her now, we are her friends. We have a responsibility to look out for her."

June seemed to tremble, and the fierceness left the witch, rendering her small and vulnerable. "I wanted her to stay happy for as long as possible. Carefee."

Jovian snorted. "Did she ever look carefree to you? There was always something… dark… about her. Inside her."

Kaz looked at him, startled. That was an acute observation for someone who seemed to walk around in a dazed trance all day. He agreed reluctantly. "He's right, June."

"That's not what I mean." She hesitated. "She has nightmares… of what had happened… she can't sleep well unless I give her those pills. And that's not all that was in those pills…"

She trailed off and looked wretched. She threw herself on the couch and huddled together like even now she was unsure of the nuances of right and wrong, sorting through the shades of grey between stark black and white. "I… the pills… I did something… a spell"

"What's that?" Hands on hips, Kaz couldn't help feeling like a disapproving parent even though June was a few hundred years older than him… a whole new twist on the meaning of 'the older generation'.

June bit her lip, a sign of nervousness. "You know how she does things…? Callous things, unfeeling things one day… and the next day she is back to herself. She apologizes because she was guilty…"

Kaz thought of the times when Shaera had said something cold… when she walked out on him… and the next day, the apology, like the ice around her had thawed slightly. "What about it?"

"It's because… when I wiped her memory, I sought to give her what her ancestors never had…" June whispered. "I gave her something that is not natural to Sirens… "

Kaz felt the blood in his veins turn to ice. They waited, but she was silent.

"What?" Jovian said finally, impatient. "Insomnia?"

"No!" June laughed, a half strangled, half tearful laugh. "A conscience."

A conscience…

Her guilt, her reprieve, her apologies, _her_… was the result of a spell?

How much of the person he loved… or thought he knew… was real… and how much was because of that spell?

It was too much to handle…

He shut his eyes, wishing he could also shut his ears against June's voice.

"Can you imagine what she would be like if it wore off completely? What sort of person would she be when she fully remembers her past, when she has no conscience? No understanding of right and wrong? What of the nature that runs through her blood, the need for darkness and destruction? What then?"

How can a voice, a normal run-of-the-mill voice sound so sorrowful, as if each cadence were drenched in tears and pain?

"I've made a mistake… a terrible mistake…"

Jovian joined her beside the couch and held her while the slender witch sobbed into her apron.

"I gave a monster a conscience… I thought I could help her begin a new life… but I can't wipe out who she is… I thought I was giving her a blessing… but I gave her a curse. I've cursed her. My baby. I've cursed her." June wept, reaching out and grasping Kaz in a death grip.

"She's no monster," He said. But then he remembered the story, the art mural he had once seen of the great legend, the battle of witches and sirens on that lonely, violent island. The terrible winged creatures, distorted, pointed faces, of blood, and hatred and despair.

"Find her. Please. Just find her."

* * *

_There is something deeply sad, yet darkly romantic about them…_

No, she wasn't looking for personal opinions. Plus she couldn't see much romance in her own situation, it was excruciatingly bizarre. Real. Bizarre. Real.

_We are in a sea of symbols, awash in elementary forms, and we are like fish, who are the last creatures to ask, 'What is the sea?" – Larson_

Screw philosophy.

_And Odysseus had his men tie him to the mast, and stop their ears with beeswax to prevent being seduced and distracted by the beautiful melodies of the mutant, supernatural creatures. _

Mutant? Gnashing her teeth - (_Mutant_?), her fingers threw aside another book, forgetting that it was the property of the library.

_It is of portent belief that Sirens were servants of Persephone, AKA "Death Queen", "Destroyer", "Goddess of the Underworld". _

Now we're getting somewhere. Or are we?

Is this how those people – _my_ people – originated? Creations of Persephone…

Was she a witch?

I wonder…

"_Ahem_"

Shaera turned to stare at the top of the head of the librarian. Must be a night worlder – this was a Night Society Library – but she had never seen a Night Worlder before who was so… plain.

A portly man, graying at the temples with a slightly rounded pauche stared back at her disapprovingly. He wore wired spectacles on the tip of his beak like nose and somehow managed to look down at her, despite being a good foot shorter than she.

Made vampires was only possible during their teens, otherwise the human body couldn't withstand the change. Born lamia aged to whatever they chose, and most chose to stop aging at the peak of their youth and beauty. And all Night Worlders were sleek and beautiful as sin, deadly as poison.

But this man…

_I suppose there are always exceptions_. There are a few supermodels who are human.

Though they didn't tend to last very long.

"_Ahem"_ he coughed again.

"Yes, Sir?" She gave him a blank look.

"_Please_ put the books back in a neat and orderly fashion once you have finished perusing," He said in a scratchy voice.

She had no idea anyone spoke like that in real life… it sounded unbelievably pompous coming from him. He must be offended at the open papers littered around her in his pristine cathedral of books.

Just a library for Goddess' sake.

"If you _do_ choose to borrow a book or journal article, proceed to the counter with your pin." His gaze searched her dismissively, triumphant when he saw that she bore no black dahlia library pin. "We do not lend to those has forgotten their pin, it is against policy."

And with that he stomped – quietly – away.

What an unpleasant man! Where was the legendary Night World charm?

Most lamia oozed it from their pores as easily as they breath, it was necessary to attract their prey… humans. This guy probably fed from a blood bag stolen from the Red Cross, no sane girl would go within 2 meters of him.

Having never set foot in the library before – Kaz would probably faint if he knew – she didn't even own a stupid pin.

Making an impolite gesture at his retreating back, Shaera paused for a minute, glanced around and slipped upstairs. Probably the most interesting information would be in the sealed section… the Siren perspective from Night World historian writers, papers that were banned to the public… archives purely for Council Members.

Which… was probably why the door refused to open, and demanded in an electronic voice "_Card Entry access only. Please Identify yourself_."

She had wanted to slip in just to annoy the librarian. _Ah well_.

"Rath Redfern." A deep voice said behind her.

Uh oh.

_Voice print acknowledged_.

She froze. Oh no, she'd be caught prying, oh the _humiliation_ to be thrown out of a public library…

"Forget your pass?" The voice said warmly.

She turned to see a dark, elegant profile, a raised brow and a sardonic smile. His eyes hadn't flickered in recognition at her, so maybe she can get away – "Uh…"

"That's okay, I do it a lot, too. Ladies first," He swiped his card, opened the door and ushered her inside.

"But…"

He was already ignoring her, heading straight down the aisle to flip through several folders. She watched the way the material of the suit molded itself to his frame as he walked – no, stalked across the carpet. It was the stealthy slither of a hunter.

_Hmm… Not bad at all. _

Since she was already here, she might as well make the most of it.

S… S for Sabbath. Sexual Pagan Crimes. Sickness spells – forbidden. Sirens.

A thin journal, worn and stained yellow with age. Slowly, carefully, she flipped it open.

_Just as the House of Drax gave birth to the first of the Shapeshifters – who gained a portion of the shifting ability, in being able to shift in one form only – so the Sirens were a product of Witches, in particular, the renowned Persephone. _

_The Sirens seemed to gain no particular dangerous magick, save that of their spellbinding voices. They were created to serve Persephone who was then a celebrity of her times, a witch of the darker realm. She challenged the Crone of all Witches, the Harman line – also perceived as Royalty amongst Witches – and was therefore banished. Persephone was rumored to have strong ties to the Underworld, wed to a Demi God. (If one believes in the existence of Gods.) _

_Too many myths revolve around Sirens to translate into precise historical fact, they are causes of legendary tales that has even filtered its way into Human Society, initiating the deaths of Night Worlders and Humans alike. _

_Following the banishment of Persephone, the Sirens left on their own became untamable, a cause of great concern when they stared to spread and wreak havoc and vengeance on all mortal beings they came across. It has been said that it was the last curse of Persephone, advocates of death, bearers of darkness… their voices touched the weakest places in the soul of all mortals, and seduced them into taking their deaths in any form, the most common of which was falling or drowning. _

Shaera shivered, her hands were trembling so bad she almost dropped the journal, guilt clamored at her, strong as bile. Her songs, Sweet Goddess – her songs… she didn't know…

_It was voted by the Night World Council some 600 years ago to thoroughly eliminate the Siren race. A team of witches were sent to the Island, known widely as the "Island of Bones" due to the skulls washed ashore like sand. After a mighty war (Ref. Chapter 3 Le Grande Bataille) The witches vanquished the Sirens, placing them under the same deep sleep enchantment as the Dragons, a solution generally thought of as merciful. In particular, June Harman, Blaze Mayday, Thistle Blackburn and Letitia Vert were commended for their outstanding efforts. _

Thistle? Thistle was in on this too? She was THERE? Shaera thought of her tiny, delicate agent and wanted to scream.

What other secrets…? How many more betrayals?

She forced herself to read the last lines of Chapter 1.

_With the enchantments of the dragons and sirens, the years of war had finally ended, although despite the recent blood treaty between the Shifter house and witches, the truce between Night Society has been an uneasy one. If the spells were to fade, or Goddess forbid, the creatures were to reawaken… the era of peace as we know it would surely come to an end. _

She had heard enough. Surely. There was no need to read anymore.

Everywhere the text leered at her, in history and present and future, she could never escape the brandings they had given her: Dark. Terrible. Death. Monsters.

_This is what you are. _

"No."

"I know who you are," He repeated.

"What?" She turned to see the man from the Council smiling at her. Rath something. What on earth did he want. Tired, she shoved the book back in its place and waved him away. "This is not a good time."

"To the contrary," He said softly, "This is the perfect time… Shaera." He rolled her name across his tongue as if he had been savoring it.

He was gazing at her strangely, as if she was a puppy and he her new master… or at a new toy he had been craving, finally placed toward him.

Edging away, she murmured, "No autographs today." This is the downside of being a singer, strangers on the street think they know you personally after seeing your MTV. Especially weird stalker types, they were the worst.

He laughed, low and husky. He was trying to charm her.

Although if the stalker in question was him it wouldn't be quite so bad… would it?

"No, I don't want an autograph from you… daughter of Parthenope."

What. Did. He. Say?

Rath tilted his head and smiled at her, the curve of his lips somehow impish though his eyes remained steady and cool.

"Lets have a talk, shall we?"

Oh no, not another talk.

* * *

"Shaera! Shaera!" Kaz yelled but no, he was too far away, there were too many people. He and Jovian ran but she was already getting into the car with someone else.

"Wait! Don't get in the car!"

He thought his lungs would burst as they both leapt over seats and weaved through people – where the blast had they all come from?

"Shaera, where are you going, dude?" Jovian cried. "Stop!"

But the door had slammed and the black Mercedes drove off. The wing bore a black dahlia tattoo. Council car.

Damn it!

Panting, helpless, Kaz stop and heaved, trying to get some air into his aching body.

"Why. Did. She…" Jovian panted "Not. Pay. Attention. To-stranger-danger-lessons."

"That wasn't stranger danger" Kaz puffed grimly. "That was a council car. What are the bets that its that Roth boy that June told us about."

"Rath," Jovian corrected with a superior expression.

"Whatever."

Within moments the car had disappeared in the throng. It was useless to try and follow. Some bodyguards, they were.

"Why didn't you shift and run after them?" Kaz complained.

Jovian looked astonished "What, in front of all these people? Are you insane? Have you forgotten our laws? Plus I would have lost time if I had."

"What, you can't shift instantly?" Disgusted, Kaz started walking back to the car, which was parked – uselessly – at the other end of the building.

Jovian followed, looking at him sideways under blond lashes. "And you don't wither in sunlight? God, what news! Call the tabloids." He stuck out his tongue.

Kaz advanced, with a menacing expression. Jovian reached under his shirt and pulled out a silver cross. "Stop or yield, walking dead!"

It was so ludicrous, so completely silly that Kaz burst out laughing.

Only Jovian could make him laugh at a time like this.

They had just lost Shaera, who took off with the last person in the world she should be in the car with, the dangerous, enigmatic, crummy-scum Rath.

He sighed.

The moment he had seen her, his heart had leapt painfully, even knowing everything, even knowing the worst that could happen, she made him feel _alive_.

Is it true then, sometimes you can't choose who you care for, and you can't help how much you care… or what you're willing to give?

And if it were the extraordinary Shaera… well… it didn't take a witch to predict that his feelings for her would cost him a whole lot more than any other woman… maybe more than he could afford…

Maybe more than his life.

* * *

_And yet how many women could identify with those lost goddesses, bearers of a message to which man is afraid to listen…_


End file.
